Gregory House and the Ghost of Christmas Always
by Balanced
Summary: In the spirit of A Christmas Carol, Ghost-Amber takes House on a journey through his and Wilson's epic friendship, to show him what has been staring him right in the face all along.
1. Chapter 1

**Gregory House and the Ghost of Christmas Always**

**Author's Note: **This is the product of working a lot of hours at my part time job at Hallmark, and getting season four of House today (Black Friday) for $12.99. Watching the Special Features reminded me of how much I loved Amber. Thus, more Hilson goodness. Just like always.  
**Author's Note 2: **Takes place some horrible Huddy Christmas in the future. Inspired by Charles Dicken's A Christmas Carol.

He'd already had one seriously bad day. He had thought he had finally succeeded in pulling the wool over his boss-turned-girlfriend's eyes when she had confronted him outside the hospital. He'd admitted the truth when cornered, but her cool words ("I'm going to spend the night at Ann's. Don't call me.") made her, um, annoyance with him pretty clear. And to top it all off the patient had died anyway.

Adding all that together with leg pain ten times worse than normal made mere _thoughts _of his bed create a Pavlov response and he found his head spinning with fatigue. As he unlocked his front door he held his breath - once inside, he exhaled slowly. It was good to be home.

The smells from when he had made breakfast that morning tempted him when he walked by the kitchen, but a crack of thunder caused his leg to twinge, a painful reminder of his destination.

Not bothering to undress or even switch on the light, he collapsed against his pillows, then rolled over onto his back. It was Christmas Eve, and he was alone. For the 800th time that day he wondered where Wilson was, what he was doing today. His best friend was Jewish, and plus he was single now-but no, he wouldn't call. He'd vowed to pull in the reins, as obsessive, pathetic, unrequited love was definitely unhealthy for his relationship with Cuddy.

And he cared about his girlfriend, he really did. He had been chasing her for as long as he could remember, and now he "had" her. He woke up every morning to long brown hair and a gentle, feminine smile. It was fine. They were happy in their Adult Relationship.

Which was why he had recently decided he couldn't indulge in these pointless fantasies anymore. He had faced facts-he was in love with Wilson. It was aggravating and frustrating, but there it was. He couldn't help it. If he had been a 13 year old girl he would have doodled "Mrs. James Wilson" into the margins of his notebooks.

And, okay, there had been times, throughout the course of their friendship that he had believed the feeling was mutual. The night his best friend had bought him the organ he had been certain that the looks in their eyes must have mirrored each other. But he had waited, and in true Shakespearean tragedy form, Wilson had been snatched up by his ex-wife.

No, but he couldn't dwell on the past like that. It was over.

With a deep sigh he slipped his eyes shut.

_He dreamed he was standing in his bedroom, staring at the blank face of Lawrence Kutner. His former (well, post-mortem) employee flipped his eyes to the diagnostician's bright blue before beginning. "Tonight, you, Gregory House will be visited by a Spirit. This Spirit will take you on a journey, so that you may learn the most important of lessons. Listen to all she has to teach you."_

_The whole scene would have been a little hilarious, if Kutner's grave expression hadn't been so eerie. "When the clock strikes nine she will appear to you for the first time."_

_House couldn't bring himself to speak. He groped for words, but his voice failed him._

_"When the clock strikes nine."_

House's eyes flew open, and went to the time on the DVR box. The digital numbers read 8:58. He took a shuttering breath and flipped on his bedside lamp. The bedroom was instantly flooded with light, but it didn't alleviate the queasy feeling in his stomach. Even as he told himself that his nervousness was ridiculous, he glanced at the time again. 8:59.

No, he couldn't start taking his _dreams _seriously. He was acting insane, and he hadn't needed Mayfield in years.

Then out of the corner of his eye he watched the time change to 9:00.

He blinked once, twice, and Amber Volakis was standing in front of him.

"Greg," she greeted, almost cheerfully, before giving him a smile.

"Cut-Throat Bitch?"

Oh, god. He was-

"You're not hallucinating," the woman interrupted his thoughts.

He narowed his eyes at her suspiciously. "Then how did you know what I was thinking?"

"You don't think we get the memos up there?" She crossed her arms over her chest in a way that was overwhelmingly familiar. "But I'm really here. We're really about to take a trip." When he didn't move, she sighed impatiently. "Whenever you're ready."

"You're not... transparent," he finally stated.

She shrugged. "Not a ghost. Not for now, anyway. It's easier to hold my hand if I have a body. And where we're headed you're going to need to hold my hand."

"Okay, what I'm going to _need _is more information than that. If you're not a figment of my imagination then why are you here? Don't you have an afterlife to be living?"

She shot him an angry glare, and he swallowed hard. He hadn't exactly worked out the kinks of this otherworldly visit but he decided that the words "still dreaming" featured prominently. Nevertheless, if Dream-Amber was hoping for cooperation he needed answers. "I'm here because of Wilson," she replied.

That was definitely low on his list of possibilities, but once she said it he supposed it made sense. The person they had in common.

In different respects, of course. She had gotten down and sweaty with the oncologist.

"What about Wilson," he demanded.

The girl that had been dead for years crossed his bedroom then stood over him, at the foot of the bed. "I left you in charge of him, and things are only worse now."

House's mouth dropped open in shock. "Hey, visitors from the Great Beyond do not to get cast judgment on relationships of earthlings. I don't tell you who to haunt."

"Regardless." She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Now he's single, and you're shacking up with the Dean of Medicine. Have you lost your mind?"

"Death has made you mean."

"Okay, we have to go," Amber said, extending her hand, which he cautiously took. Her skin was cool, but not the ice block he had been expecting. "Click your heels together, and say there's no place like home." And in a swirl of lights the pair disappeared into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Thanks for all the adds and reviews. I'm glad that you guys seem to be enjoying the story as much as I am enjoying writing it. I've never written Amber before so please be patient with her IC-ness.

It seemed like hours before House carefully opened one of his eyes. They had finally stopped moving, but, glancing around the scenery, he wasn't exactly sure why.

"Do you recognize this place," Amber asked him when he turned to her askance.

He raised his eyebrows in confusion. "I'd hope so." He paused to gesture to the apartment door in front of them, and the snow on the ground. "This is where I live."

Amber frowned, then looked around more carefully. "Oh. Damn. I was hoping for something a little more dramatic for our first stop," she grumbled. "Well, no matter. This may be your apartment, but it isn't where you live. Not yet."

And as he opened his mouth to ask her what she meant he noticed two figures striding in their direction. Tall men, laughing loudly, and the closer they got the faster House's heart beat. Once the pair stepped into the direct light being given off by the moon he couldn't smother a sharp gasp. It was him. Himself. House. And Wilson. They must have been twenty years younger! His best friend's brown hair was thick, in desperate need of a haircut, his skin smooth without the wrinkles. And younger House wasn't using a cane.

Present Day House shifted the one in his possession from hand to hand, as though to remind himself that it was still there, but he couldn't tear his gaze away from the scene unfolding before him.

"This is the place," Wilson was telling the younger House. Both Houses eyed the building, then Past-House shook his head firmly. "No way."

"I remember this day," the older diagnostician exclaimed, turning to his companion. "But I don't know why you brought me here."

"Would you just watch," Amber snapped.

House threw up his hands defensively, palms facing out. "Okay. Jeeze."

"You'll love it," Wilson enthused to the other Greg House. "Just give it a chance. You haven't even seen the inside yet." He led the way to the front door, then gestured for his friend to follow him.

House stole a look at Amber, who nodded, answering his unasked question. "Yeah, that means us too."

"Thrilling," he muttered, but he knew his words carried no weight. He was completely captivated.

"It's Christmas Eve, right," he whispered conversationally as he and Amber stepped inside the apartment behind himself and Wilson.

"Yes," was her reply. "And you do realize they can't hear us. We're not physically here." She pointed to the snow outside. "Only one set of tracks. One of the perks of being ethereal."

He gave no response, but only because he was determined not to miss anything.

Past-House wandered around the space that would be his new home in two short weeks. It was strange to compare the way he remembered the apartment to the way it actually had been. He'd forgotten that he and Wilson had painted the living room; that it used to be that God-awful yellow.

Wilson opened the fridge and (Oh yeah! That's right.) there were four beers inside. "I hid them here earlier." Wilson said sheepishly, handing one to Past-House. "I thought we could drink to the new place."

The other man took his drink and shrugged in nonchalance. "It'll work. I can't believe this is how you spent your Christmas Eve." Past-House collapsed onto the floor, so he didn't see the small smile that darted across the oncologist's face. But Present-House and Amber did.

The diagnostician turned to the undead girl in surprise. "Did you see that?"

She grinned back lightly. "What?"

"Nothing."

Wilson had taken a seat across from his friend and was holding up his beer in cheers. "To 221B. May you live in its rooms for many a year."

Past-House rolled his eyes at the man's unabashed cheesiness, but raised his bottle anyway. "Okay. Whatever."

House watched the friends, and was struck by a sense of… Well, he missed this. He had never thought that his friendship with Wilson would be strained by a woman, of all things. And he had never expected to be the one canceling on the other. _But it's better this way_ had become his mantra as of late, and he assured himself that it would get better in time – Lisa was amazing in her own way. The instinct to call his best friend when something fantastic, horrible, and everything in between happened, would eventually pass. He was sure t wouldn't be long before he dialed Lisa's cell phone just as habitually.

But seeing this, being reminded of what he had once had was perhaps a little more painful than he would have guessed. Time spent with his best friend had been as easy as breathing, and cutting their amount of time together shorter hadn't come without a cost.

He had been paying such close attention that he jumped when he felt Amber shift beside him. He shot her a perturbed glare. "Hello. Trying to pay attention here."

"Sorry, Greg, but we have to go."

He considered for a moment, but this time didn't hesitate when Amber reached for his hand. If this was what was in store for his Christmas then he wasn't about to argue. Revisiting the times with Wilson he had forgotten? And honestly, this was the longest he had been in the same room as his best friend in a while. Go figure.

Just like the first time he traveled with Amber, House felt a gentle pull from behind, and the dizziness then hit him full on. He counted backwards from ten, and clenched his fingers tightly around the woman's until he finally felt a hard surface beneath his feet. He took a deep breath to steady himself, then summoned the courage to open his eyes.

It took a moment to adjust to the change in his surroundings before he could fully take them in. White walls, long red curtains, a small, rectangular table with one chair by the window. Oh, and there was Wilson, sobbing in the corner.

House was across the room before he even registered the need to move, but once he was standing in front of the younger man words failed him. Not that Wilson would hear him anyway. He wondered what he would have said, if he had actually been there. This wasn't a memory of his.

He looked to Amber, who stared resolutely ahead. Fine, if she wasn't going to give him any answers then he'd figure it out on his own. How many times had he done _that_ throughout the years?

Carefully he examined the oncologist's features and tried to decide on an age. His hair was shorter than the previous version, so that meant older. But longer than it had been when Kutner had taken his own life. His face was buried in his hands so the information there ran out.

The room was familiar – he'd been there before, so Grace's apartment was out. Suddenly he took a closer look at the doors around them and realized that he was standing in the hotel room Wilson had lived in post-Dying Cancer Chick. And an inspection of the bedside table revealed copies of the prescriptions House had written to himself under the oncologist's name. Tritter.

"Christmas Eve," he asked again.

In his peripheral vision he saw Amber nod. "This was right after he found you at your place."

"He's… a little upset," House commented softly.

She cocked an accusing eyebrow. "Finding your best friend laying in his own vomit will do that to a person." Off his expression she added, "I'm just saying."

Just to have a distraction from the misery Wilson was in he asked her, "You feel like telling me what this whole thing is about? Is Wilson in some kind of trouble or something? Or sick?"

"You know I can't just tell you," she argued. "Kind of defeats the purpose. You know, I volunteered for this job. So stop being so difficult, and just watch the scenes. The more questions you ask, the less time we have for each stop. Is that what you want?"

"Can we just get out of here," House requested. He couldn't bear to watch this, knowing he couldn't do anything about Wilson's pain, knowing he was the cause. He'd never known that his friend was so distraught about the Tritter situation. Though, now that he thought about it, he guessed that wasn't true. It hadn't been long after that he had found out about the antidepressants.

"Let's go." And she caught his hand in her own.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** My computer randomly decided to work- go figure. I've got a new job with a lot of free time so I actually finished this story. I'm going to try to post the whole thing by tomorrow tonight, because I don't want it to get out of season. If you read, please review.

The next time House released Amber's hand it took every ounce of his self-control to not burst into enthusiastic applause. He immediately recognized the scene and it was one of his favorite memories of their friendship. Christmas Eve (he was starting to notice a pattern), late, close to midnight. There was Wilson, more _his _Wilson than any before, and House, only slightly younger than the one standing with Amber. It was the loft, during the time they'd been living together in the space, shortly after Wilson's surgery. He remembered coming home that night and being appalled by the new addition to the living room.

The tall, thankfully artificial, Christmas tree had already been set up and Past-House was staring at it through narrowed eyes.

"I still can't believe you bought one already decorated," he whined to his friend. "Weird enough that you got one at all."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "I told you. I like them, and it looks good in here."

"I'm glad you brought me here," Present-House told Amber a little grudgingly. He watched as his best friend passed the younger him a thin box, and then he laughed picturing its contents.

Past-House eagerly tore through the wrapping before withdrawing a thick stack of papers that he held up in confusion. The words across the top astounded him: Last Will and Testament.

"Wilson, what the hell?"

The two diagnosticians stared at the other man, awaiting his response. When he finally did speak, his voice was shaking noticeably. The House with the ghost tried to think back and recall if he had heard the tremble before, but he honestly wasn't sure.

"I want you to have everything."

"You're obviously drunk. Time to cut you off."

"Greg." Butterflies every time. Even Present-House felt a shiver shoot up his spine. "I'm trying to tell you something here."

"I mean, you gotta understand. I got you a book. Well, a magazine. Well, the newspaper in the trash."

Wilson held up a hand to stop the onslaught of information. "Okay, I get the idea. But there's no talking me out of it now. If I ever completely lose my mind again and risk my life for someone else who can't remember my name-"

"Which is pretty likely."

"I want everything to go to you."

Past-House sighed. "I can't believe someone declared you of sound mind."

"It's what I want."

House groped for an appropriate response, but settled on a gruff, "Whatever. It's not like I can stop you."

Wilson grinned. "Just please don't sell the records."

"Already with the demands!"

"He really cares about you," Amber suddenly commented, startling Present-House.

"Well, yeah, but there's no accounting for taste."

"I was wondering when you'd find a way to incorporate your self-loathing."

He glared back at her until he heard Wilson take a deep breath. He knew what was coming and silently recited the words with the oncologist.

"There's no one I'd rather be living with."

House shifted his eyes to his younger self, impatiently waiting for his answer. It was a full 45 seconds before he realized that no reply was coming. He hadn't said anything.

He didn't need to feel Amber's light hand on his shoulder to know it was time to move on.

"We're… in my bedroom," House told Amber moments later when he opened his eyes.

He took a step deeper into the room, and caught sight of the clothes he'd worn that morning. "Oh. We're back in my time."

"That's right. I'm just dropping you off."

He hadn't meant for his face to fall, but when Amber laughed he knew that it had.

"You're disappointed," she accused. "Why?"

Why indeed? Sure he was enjoying the trip down memory lane but he could accomplish the same thing by thinking. He decided it just seemed strange for it to come to such an abrupt ending. "I'm fine," he lied. "So, this is it?"

Amber grinned. "Yep, this is it. It's been fun. We should do it again some time."

And when he turned to her to respond she was gone.

Well. He gently lowered himself onto his bed and reflected over the previous hour. For as long as he could remember he had wanted, desperately, more than anything, for Wilson to love him. He'd spent years dropping what he had considered to be fairly transparent hints, to no avail, which he had always chalked up to a lack of feelings from the oncologist. However this trip had made him question that theory.

And he knew he was putting a lot of stock into what boiled down to a couple of looks. But he had always prided himself on the depth of knowledge he had about his friend, and he was beginning to wonder if he had been missing something all along. He hadn't been watching the time, but when the clock changed to 11:00 he felt a sharp stab of nerves in the pit of his stomach.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and when he opened them he wasn't alone anymore.

Amber was standing in front of him again. "Miss me?"

House stared back at her for several seconds before he found his voice. "For God's sake! I saw less of you when you were alive!"

She smirked. "You couldn't possibly have thought our quality time together had come to an end already? I didn't come back from the dead to spend an hour in your company. We still have, like, five more stops to go."

Frankly, he was relieved. His curiosity about this whole thing was piqued and he wanted to see where it would lead. "So where are we off to," he inquired, getting to his feet and offering her his hand. As she took it she shot him a sideways glance.

"I thought we might go see my ex."

* * *

The Wilson in front of them was the one House had seen earlier that day. Okay, so this was the present.

His friend was sitting in front of the television, flipping through a photo album, a bottle of bourbon on the table to his right. House moved closer to the other man, and saw, to his surprise, that he was staring at a picture of the two of them. House glanced quickly at Amber because, after all, she had loved him once too, but she didn't seem upset. Quite the opposite, actually. She had the tiniest of grins on her lips and her eyes had a cheerful glint in them.

"What?"

She shrugged innocently and nodded at Wilson. House smothered a sigh and returned his attention to the scene.

He watched his friend dig his cell phone out of his pocket and begin to dial.

"Hey, House," he said softly. "It's me."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **Okay, I fell behind schedule. I'm sorry, guys. BTW, this is a shorter chapter. Honestly, I have no idea why.

At those words House looked up so sharply he thought he might have sustained whiplash. Wilson was calling him? He couldn't even remember the last time they had spoken on the phone. Of course they saw each other pretty consistently at work, but those conversations tended to lean towards the "is this cancer" variety.

"I guess you're out with Cuddy," Wilson continued, to House's voicemail. "I mean, it's Christmas Eve after all. Though she_ is_ Jewish so I don't know how that factors into your holiday plans. Maybe you're being modern and celebrating 'Chrismukkah.' Never thought I wouldn't know what you're doing on Christmas. Which is actually sort of why I'm calling.

"I… I don't know, House. I really can't understand what's happened with us lately. I know when you listen to this you're going to get that agitated look on your face but the truth is that I just… Miss you. I had this patient yesterday that kept talking about how his cancer… How he felt like it alienated him from the people he cares about, and then he told me that he hasn't had dinner with his best friend in months and do you know what I said? 'At least you have an excuse.' I'm pretty sure he's going to call your girlfriend and complain. Just, if you could, give me a call when you get this. If you wanted to call tonight, that would be fine. It doesn't matter what time. Whenever."

And then he hung up.

House approached him before he could stop himself and stood over his friend. The expression in the brown eyes was hard to read. He seemed sad, that much was certain. But there was something else there, wasn't there? He tried to think of the last time he had seen that look before, and all of a sudden it hit him: The night Wilson had given him the organ.

For the first time he tried to consider the possibility that his friend returned his feelings, and attempted to study him objectively. Could he?

"House?"

He froze, his eyes locked on Wilson. Had that really just happened? No way could the other man see him, so how had he guessed he was in the room?

"House," Wilson said again, quieter this time, as though embarrassed by his own actions.

"Wilson," he couldn't help replying.

The oncologist didn't hear him, obviously. It was pathetic that he had even been hopeful. The younger man merely let out a frustrated gust of air, then raked a hand through his hair. "Oh great, now _you're_ hallucinating," Wilson muttered to himself before getting to his feet and retreating to his bedroom.

House turned to Amber, though it was a minute before he was able to speak. "I can't believe you made me miss that call."

"You're saying you can't call him back," Amber asked him.

He shrugged but didn't answer.

The scene changed, and though he didn't recognize the building he immediately knew where he was. Cuddy sat on a couch in what was presumably Ann's living room, Rachel's small frame on the seat beside her. As House watched, his girlfriend broke off half of a chocolate chip cookie and offered it to her daughter.

"Sweet, isn't it," Amber asked, her tone transparently mocking.

He glanced at her, angry for reasons he couldn't explain. He just didn't like anyone poking holes in his relationship with Lisa. So they had some problems. Big deal. So did everyone else. Their relationship wasn't perfect-whose was?

"Is this what you want," Amber abruptly demanded.

"What kind of question is that?"

"What kind of _answer_ is _that_? I'm showing you your girlfriend and her daughter, and I'm asking you if that's a life you would pick for yourself." She let out a sigh of impatience before crossing her arms over her chest. "This should be an easy enough question. You love Cuddy. You're building a life together. I see white picket fences and rose gardens in your future. Is that something you want to be a part of?"

His default position would have been to defend his romance with Cuddy, but he found himself mulling over another option entirely and envisioned a different sort of life. In mind's eye he saw someone else standing at his side and wondered what that picture would look like. Would Wilson expect him to be perfect, hold him up to an impossible, higher standard? Or would he accept him the way he was, flawed and all? But the question that remained was the same one it had always been: Could Wilson really love him back? Were a few looks and a gut feeling sufficient proof of reciprocated adoration?

"Why are you doing this," he snapped at Amber.

"Because! You're not happy and neither is James. But you could be, if you'd stop acting like you have any clue what you're doing.

"Look, Greg, in case you haven't noticed, I'm dead. It's too late for me to do anything even remotely helpful. And you're the one, the only person, that he's loved more than me." She shrugged. "It's fine, I'm trying to get better at losing. But if I'm going to be losing I would like it to be to someone who can at least appreciate it. What are you doing with Cuddy? You've had like 800 chances to tell James how you feel-"

"What the hell do you know about my _feelings_?"

"When he moved in with you after his marriage with Julie ended," she continued as though he hadn't spoken, ticking the examples off on her fingers. "Or when he chose to date someone exactly like you, or when he asked you to be with him after that surgery for Tucker. You, what, think these are the acts of someone who's looking at you through friendship-colored glasses?"

He glared at her in fury but didn't answer. What was he supposed to say? She had Post-Mortem advantage.

Evidently deciding to take his silence as a confession, Amber flashed a victorious smile and held out her hand. "And now, Dr. House, we're going to the future."

"You're not going to drop me off at my place first again?"

"No, that was really just fun the one time. I don't want to get formulaic. We'll just skip to the main event."


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **This chapter took the story in a slightly different direction that I had originally planned, but let me know what you think.

Future-221B looked almost the exact same as the present version. There were, of course, a few small differences: there was a replica of the movie poster for Psycho hanging on one of the walls in his living room. A picture of himself, Cuddy, Wilson and some guy he didn't recognize had been added to a shelf in the bookcase.

He had just begun to wonder why Amber had brought him an empty apartment when the sound of Cuddy's voice calling from his bedroom met his ears.

"Greg, what time did you tell them?"

Future-House stepped out from the bathroom and Present-House breathed a sigh of relief. He looked completely the same. No new leg problems and he didn't appear to be suffering from any sort of debilitating illness.

"Six," his doppelganger told the woman they were both dating.

She appeared in front of the three of them, and House noted that there were no significant changes there either.

"Exactly how far into the future are we," he asked. "Tomorrow?"

Amber laughed, then pointed at a Thomas Kinkade calendar (also a new addition) hanging by the door.

"Next Christmas?"

"Well, the way next Christmas will turn out if you don't make some much-needed changes."

The knock at the door interrupted the pair and when House turned and saw who Cuddy was opening the door for, his breath caught in his throat. Wilson stood in the doorway, but that wasn't unexpected. The person he was standing with, however, was.

It was the unfamiliar man from the new photograph and his left arm was wrapped around his best friend's waist. Then, to House's utter astonishment, the man leaned over and pressed his lips to Wilson's temple.

"Sorry we're late," the oncologist said, as if the world hadn't just turned upside down. "Long line at Exxon. Apparently everyone and their mother is driving out of town today."

House spun around and faced Amber. "I'm sorry, is Wilson _dating_ that guy?"

"Going on four months now."

He was speechless. He couldn't believe it. How had that even happened? Where had they met? Dear God, was this man even the first?

"Don't be silly, you're right on time," Cuddy assured the men. She stepped back to allow them entry and, as they walked inside, House stole a glance at himself. The man he would be the following year pressed his lips together in a tight line, but gave no other outward indication as to his feelings about his best friend's relationship.

"Cuddy made the dessert," Future-House informed the guests, "so I hope you brought booze."

Wilson held up a bottle as his … boyfriend… laughed and joined Cuddy in the kitchen. "I'll see what I can do."

The moment Future-House and Wilson were "alone" together the feeling in the air changed. Gone was the lighthearted holiday chit-chat, replaced by palpable tension. Wilson quietly approached his friend and said, too softly for the pair in the kitchen to hear, "Are we going to talk about this?"

"Absolutely not, never," Future-House answered. He refused to meet Wilson's eyes.

"Greg-"

"Don't call me that."

"House, we have to. I don't want our friendship to be this way."

"Then you should have thought about that before you kissed me."

Present-House gasped and drew closer.

"It wasn't exactly one-sided," Wilson argued, his voice carefully calm. "What was I supposed to do? You'd just told me you loved me!"

"That I _used_ to love you. I was making a point."

"You kissed me back."

Present-House could not believe what he was hearing. He and Wilson had kissed? (Or, rather, were going to kiss? Time-travel was confusing.) Forget the unnamed lover-how had _that_ happened?

But with the surge of joy came a sharp pang of guilt. Not 50 feet away was the woman he had spent every day with for the past few years. So he had cheated? No matter how much he had wanted Wilson he had never imagined that he would have chosen to make a move while he was in a relationship.

"I guess you're not going to fill me in," he asked Amber.

She studied him carefully for a moment, considering, then gave a half-nod to herself. "It's pretty much what you would expect. You guys went out, there was drinking, and then you let the cat out of the bag. I missed the actual exchange, but I think you were trying to give examples of problems you had solved without his assistance."

"And that was the best I could do?"

"Apparently." Once again a pale while hand was offered and though the last thing he wanted was to depart from the scene, he wordlessly took it.

* * *

Immediately he knew that several years had passed. Yes, he recognized himself sitting in the corner of a restaurant with an older Wilson, but new wrinkles lined both of their faces. Dodging the other tables, House quickly approached the pair for improved audio quality, and was rewarded by the sound of his own voice meeting his ears.

"Wilson, I've told you 5,000 I'm fine."

House blinked in surprise at the bitterness in his tone, and saw that there was no trace of amusement on his face. Whatever had happened (and he had a sneaking suspicion what had) Wilson was clearly doing his Over-Anxiety thing. But how was that different than any other day? What was with the sudden anger?

His best friend held his hands up in surrendering pantomime. "Okay, I'm sorry I asked."

"How's Jeremy?"

"He's fine. Our anniversary is next week."

"Yeah, I had a feeling."

The pair lapsed into uneasy silence. As long seconds ticked by Present-House chanced a glance at Amber, who was reading someone's menu over their shoulder.

"Did you see that they have lobster tails? God, I haven't had those since I was alive." She got a wistful look in her eyes. "One of the sad things about being dead-"

"Okay, that's great," he interrupted impatiently. "Anyway, in case you haven't noticed, we have somewhat of a situation over here."

She sighed dramatically before joining him by the pair of men. "And what situation would that be?"

"The situation of everyone's favorite duo being unable to even carry on a conversation." He pointed for emphasis, but really it wasn't necessary. Wilson had chosen that exact moment to-very obviously- stick a roll into his mouth to spare himself the trouble of having to say anything. "What are we going to do about this?"

Amber raised her eyebrows. "We? I'm dead."

"I'm getting tired of you using that as an excuse."

"Look, the whole point of you getting to see your future is that you're still able to change it." She paused. "Assuming you want to, of course. Just try to relax. We're about to take off; there's just one thing left that I want you to see." Then, with flawless timing, her eyes moved back to the table and House, mimicking her, caught the next words out of Wilson's mouth:

"I told him about us."

Future-House looked up sharply. "You told him? Why? God, Wilson, you and this damned compulsion for truth-telling!"

"What's your big solution then? Keep lying to the guy…" Here Wilson paused to take a deep breath before finishing, "that I'm supposed to marry?"

It was clear from the oncologist's expression that these words were the reason he had attended dinner.

Present-House stared in disbelief at the man who had been his best friend for over 20 years, and who had loved, passionately, deeply, somewhat obsessively, for just as long, unable to process what he was saying. He was marrying some guy?

"You and Jeremy are getting married," the other House clarified. His face was void of all emotion. "Cuddy and I break up, and you decide to marry Jeremy? That's just great."

If he had been aiming for guilt then he was disappointed because when Wilson looked up his eyes were flashing in fury. "You want me to feel bad," the younger doctor demanded. "I told you how I felt, I offered to leave him-"

"You knew I was with Cuddy," Future-House retorted. "What was I supposed to do? Tell the woman that I had been chasing for decades, 'Well, I'm so glad we got together, but Wilson has decided to take an interest-"

"Don't blame this on me," Wilson snapped. "I would have given up everything for you. I told you that from the first day we kissed five years ago. But you wouldn't even discuss it. In case you don't remember, it was three months before you could even be in the same room with me. And even after you told me you were staying with Cuddy, I ended things with Luke, on the hope that you might change your mind."

"I never asked you to."

"No, you're right, you're totally blameless," Wilson answered sarcastically. Then he continued. "It was two years before I even started dating again, and now you tell that it's over with Cuddy, and you want to be mad because there's nothing I can do about it? You've had years to pick me, and you waited for me to be engaged to exorcize that right?"

"It's only going to get uglier," Amber told Present-House.

"Uglier than that," House asked in amazement. "How is that even possible?"

"Well, you get pretty mean."

"Me?"

"Yeah. The subject of James' fidelity is coming up pretty soon."

"Let's go." He couldn't bear to watch anymore anyway.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **Alas this journey has come to an end. I've really appreciated all the adds and reviews, and hope everyone will continue to read my works.

The next stop on the Tour of Greg House's life was a large, ornately decorated room, inside what was clearly a church. There was only one person in the room, a man dressed in a tux, who was eyeing himself critically in the mirror. When he turned, and House caught sight of who it was, a cold hand of dread gripped him.

"No," he said to Amber with all the authority he could muster. "Get me out of here."

Amber gazed back serenely, the picture of innocence. "What do you mean?"

"I'm _not _going to watch Wilson get married again. No way."

Then, as though to unseat his argument, the door to the hall opened, and House saw himself enter the room. Future-House, who was evidently not much older than the previous one, stared openly at the younger man.

"God, Wilson," he breathed.

The oncologist grinned a little shyly. "You approve?"

"In a big way. No pun intended."

"I'm surprised you came," Wilson said quietly. "You didn't R.S.V.P."

Future-House rolled his eyes. "You thought I'd miss my best friend getting married? Just because it isn't to me?"

It was clear from Wilson's double take that he hadn't been expecting such a candid remark, but he chose not to reply.

For a second Present-House thought that was going to be the end of their conversation, but to his overall surprise, the future version of himself crossed the room in four long strides and faced Wilson.

"Look," he began. "I'm obviously not thrilled about this. And if you were to ask me a few years ago if I'd expected this day to come around, I think we both know what I would have said. But…" He shrugged. "I can be here for you, if that's what you want." His eyes flicked questioningly to his friend. "It's what you want?"

Wilson swallowed hard, uncertainty darting across his face. However, when he met Future-House's bright blue eyes with his own, his jaw was set in a determined line. "Yes. It's what I want."

House blinked, and he was in his bedroom. Clothes on the floor, coffee cup on the night stand, and no blond in sight-he knew he had returned to the present. He stole a quick glance at the time. 6:15. It was Christmas Day.

He was searching for a tee shirt before he knew what he was doing.

Whether last night's excursion had actually included the involvement of Wilson's girlfriend from the grave, or it had been doing more than a piece of undercooked chicken, there was no doubt in his mind what he had to do.

He could not let things turn out that way. He cared about Cuddy, he really did, but no way was Wilson going to marry some guy when they could have been together. The future that Amber (if it was really her) had shown him had worked out the way that it did because he had chosen to stay with Cuddy.

Not anymore.

The drive to the loft seemed excruciatingly long. He wanted to rehearse what he planned to say, but memories from the previous evening dominated his thoughts. The mental imagine of Wilson in his tux, prepared to pledge his life to a faceless 'Jeremy' kept popping up, throwing off his confidence. But he was done with self-doubt.

As he stepped into the building and headed straight to the elevators he forced himself to take a series of deep breaths. As it turned out it did nothing to calm him and he was a little light-headed by the time he got to Wilson's.

"Wilson," he yelled through the door, before adding a pounding knock to the commotion. "Wilson!"

There was the sound of shuffling footsteps from the inside, a loud creak as a the door swung open, and his best friend was standing in front of him looking very disheveled and a little mad.

Oops.

"House, it's seven in the morning," he said.

"I'm in love with you." Oh well. He'd really meant to build to that, but now that it was out there all he could do was press onward. "I'm in love with you, and we should be together. I think I could make you happy." He made a brave attempt at a seductive a grin. "What I lack in speed, I more than make up for in girth."

He was hit by a surge of relief when the younger doctor snorted in amusement. "Good to know."

But that wasn't an answer, so he drew closer, and slowly brushed his fingertips against Wilson's soft cheek. "Please let me pick you," he whispered.

Then he couldn't say anything else because the man he loved had covered his lips with his own.

It was different than House had ever imagined, kissing Wilson. He'd expected tenderness, sweetness, but the pair of lips belonging to his friend was neither of those things. There was a raw need, a desperation that nearly took his breath away, and when Wilson wrapped his arms around House's waist and pulled him even closer, as though impatient with the distance between them, House thought his heart might explode with joy.

Too soon, however, he had to pull away. Then he laughed at the look of disappointment on Wilson's face. "I'm sorry and I'll be back soon, but…" He sobered up quickly. "I have to take care of things with Cuddy before we can take this to the NC-17 rating."

"I love you too," Wilson told him, speaking for the first time."I always have."

And it was with total confidence that he was able to reply, "I know."

**Epilogue**

The following Christmas Eve House crawled into the bed behind his boyfriend and slipped an arm around his waist. Wilson had crashed over an hour beforehand, in spite of House's complaints about dating a grandfather, and had already gone to bed.

"Ahem."

House jumped slightly at the unexpected voice being directed at him from the corner of the room. When he saw who it was he let out a low moan. "God! Not you _again_!"

Amber raised her eyebrows. "That's how you're going to greet me? The woman who came back from the dead to set you up with her ex?" She gestured to the aforementioned, shirtless man. "Successfully, it seems."

"Don't tell me you're here to take me away again," House complained. "I'm kind of tired."

She shook her head, the tiniest of grins on her pale face. "Nope. Just checking in. I've been pretty pleased with the way things worked out."

"Yeah, no breakups so far. Ever, if I get my way."

"You're just so cute."

"Right out of a Hallmark card," he answered sarcastically, but they shared a smile.

"Anyway," Amber said, "I should get going. I just wanted to come by and say congratulations. And don't screw it up."

House shrugged. "No, I don't think I will."

"Oh, and Greg?"

"Yeah?"

Every trace of amusement had vanished from her face, and it was with quiet fear that she asked, "You'll take care of him, right?"

And he met her eyes. "Yeah. I'll take care of him."


End file.
